Run
by Jayxaline
Summary: With Storybrooke free from the curse and Jefferson reunited with his Grace at last, it could only be expected that perhaps they would finally get their happily ever after. However, that changes one day when Jefferson receives a package on his doorstep that resurfaces old wounds and forces a past he'd rather put behind him, front and center.
1. The Time Has Come

Jefferson would be the last to classify himself as 'brave'.

In fact, in an entire list of his own, personal attributes, 'brave' wouldn't even make the top fifty.

'Cunning', 'Clever' and 'Impulsive' would be far higher on his list- capped off, at the very top, with 'Resourceful'. All were perfectly good- and very _encouraged_trademarks where he grew up- none of that 'Valiant, Brave, Heroic' nonsense that were more admirable in _other_realms. Instead, he made it a rule of thumb: keep an eye on your own neck and you'll never lose your head. The Second he started worrying about others would be the second he slipped up.

He jumped at the snapping of a branch under his foot, eyes darting around wildly, heart racing.

So, really, he'd be the _first_to admit that voluntarily traveling into the Tulgey Wood, _alone_, at the tender age of 12 ¾, to seek out the most powerful creature in all of existance- likely wasn't the _smartest_idea.

It was all too quiet this deep in the Tulgey Wood- not so much as the rustling of leaves as small creatures hurried by- or birds, chirping away in the treetops. Not even the crickets made themselves known here. Instead, Jefferson's only company was his own ragged breathing as he tried to keep his pulse from rocketing up again at the slightest sound.

Jefferson worried away at the brim of his overly large top hat- one that he doubted would _ever_fit him, but that he took to carrying all the same. It was a reminder- it was what kept him going forward, step after step, despite the fact that every instinct he had in him was screaming at him to turn around and run- run as fast and as far away as he could; which only caused him to hold the hat closer to his chest, fingers curling around it protectively.

He had grown up with stories, warning him away from The Woods. There wasn't a single Wonderlander who hadn't. The expansive forest was well known to be populated with all sorts of beasts- from Jabberwocky to Bandersnatch- and magics that could not be found anywhere else- so dark, that even the most corrupted hearts would weep in fear. It was none of this, however, that had caused all Wonderlanders to keep a wide berth of the forest- choosing to build their roads _around_it, instead of cutting through it- despite the fact that it caused journeys to be twice and three times as long. No, it wasn't the magic or the monsters- it was something far, far worse…

Something that Jefferson had gotten into his mind a desire to seek out.

Granted, he wasn't the first.

There had been, over the hundreds of years of tales, many souls who had tested their luck- or sought to quench their curiosity- by traversing the Tulgey Wood. There had been those who had grown frustrated with the long, winding roads and simply wished, out of impatience, to cut through them and prove that there was nothing to fear. However, out of all of these brave and foolish men and women- no one was heard to have ever returned.

Jefferson was _not_brave. Nor did he consider himself particularly foolish. He knew precisely what he was getting himself into. He knew the risks. But when it all came down to it- after years of trying every other method imaginable, he was desperate.

The trees had grown denser the further in he reached; until he found himself struggling to squeeze through them. By this time, he was deep enough in, that not even the sky above was visible to him anymore. The woods were far too thick- and if he had been less frightened, he might have wondered why he had managed to see anything at all.

Or, then again, perhaps not. After all, this _was_Wonderland- and as a native, Jefferson had learned rather quickly that it was best not to question.

Eventually, he reached a portion where the trees huddled together so tightly, pressed against one another and leaning slightly away from him, as if divulging a secret, he found he could not pass. He had been ready for this moment- he had been preparing for this moment. In fact, if he truly thought about it, he had been training his entire life for this moment- as every Wonderlander had. It was a thing of safety; something taught as a child and tested throughout adulthood- that seldom ever found the chance to use in life, but those who did, found they truly wished they hadn't. So with as much confidence (if not bravery) as he could muster, Jefferson reached out a hand, the other still tightly hugging his hat, and stroked the trees.

They were warm to the touch, and trembled visibly at his ministration, vibrating so that small cracks appeared between them, a slight, barely visible, deep lavender mist, seeping through. The voice came from them, all in unison- a tired, gasping voice, as if instead of breathing out to speak, they were breathing in.

"_Give me food, and I shall live…._

_Give me water, and I shall die…._

_What am I?" _

Jefferson sighed in relief. Out of all of the possibilities, he was lucky enough to have been given the most basic one.

"Fire." Jefferson stated, the confidence he had been feeling, somehow not transferring over to his voice, which cracked in preadolescence. He winced at the uncertainty he found there, however, the trees' trembling had grown more volatile, causing him to step backward slightly, eyes still fixed on the bunch that seemed to be conferring with themselves, before the voice came again.

"_Correct." _

The trees parted with a sigh, swaying so violently downwards that it appeared as though they were bowing as they made a clearing for him. Jefferson, unsure what else to do, approached them with trepidation and hesitantly climbed over, and into the large clearing. Or, what he _assumed_was a clearing.

The clearing itself was far from clear at all, and in fact was completely flooded with a thick, violet fog- a fog that sent Jefferson's insides into knots.

_Magic_

Small amounts were generally common enough- especially in Wonderland. The land itself was brimming with the stuff- or so legend had it. However, it was generally just small tufts- clumps that would spurt out of particular flowers and grass when you waded through it- and occasionally from musical instruments or looking glasses that snickered at you when your back was turned. It was a common occurrence that you just waved away while holding your breath so as not to inhale any- unless you wished to happen to become a toad or have your hair turn a very fetching shade of puce.

Death was also, as always, a possibility.

So it was only natural that, when faced with such an over abundance, Jefferson's first instinct _wasn't_to run straight on into it. Which was fortunate, because moments later, he witnessed as the fog began to stir- and without warning, started moving directly towards the very center- as if being sucked up into it- gathering together into a large, dark form, swiftly taking shape.

"_Good…."_The same voice as before said- a high, wheezing voice that seemed to develop more clarity as the clouds continued to twist and turn into a more prominent, identifiable silhouette.

A slit appeared in the silhouette- bright and white- small at first, but growing wider and wider until it spread upwards in a very distinct crescent moon shape.

"_You brought The Hat." _said The Cheshire Cat, grin never falling out of place.

Jefferson's first attempt at an introduction came out more as a squeak than as an actual, articulated sentence.

"you-him-you're-" His second attempt didn't fare much better.

The Cheshire Cat chuckled as it obtained a solid form; the purple fog darkening and lightening in various locations, forming the stripes of the large, expansive beast. The eyes were next to come; bright yellow, hovering just over the smile, and focusing immediately on Jefferson- who, in turn, clutched his hat tighter and fought every urge in his body to back away. "The Cheshire Cat." He finally managed to get out, somehow resulting in The Cat's grin to grow even wider- to absurd proportion.

"_You rang?"_The Cat asked, though his voice was out of sync with his mouth, and seemed to make a lap around the clearing before settling down into Jefferson's ears. It was higher than he had expected. Great, powerful being and you would expect him to have a deep, menacing voice. However, Jefferson found it to be quite the contrary. It was light, jovial even; though not so high as to be feminine. In fact, the voice was of one that bore no particular gender at all, which he supposed was only suiting. However, the moment he heard The Cat speak, he couldn't imagine the voice sounding like anything else.

Jefferson attempted to rally- herding in the courage that seemed to have scampered away at the very presence of the Cat, and channeling all of it into making his voice audible.

"I- uh- I'm-"

"Oh, I _know_who you _are_…" The Cat interrupted, turning over lazily to observe him upside-down- perfectly exposed and for all intents and purposes, appearing completely harmless. "And more importantly, I know _why_." He rolled back, right side up again, head resting in his hands- quite literally, Jefferson realized, as the excess purple fog seemed to have neglected to give him a neck, and was far more preoccupied with making an assortment of peculiar shapes with his tail. "You wish for me to find your father." The Cat elaborated, lazily. At that, Jefferson immediately perked up.

"Yes! Please! I'll do anything!- I was told that if anyone could, you could!"

The Cat's grin widened a fraction more, threatening to circle in on itself, before The Cat opened its' mouth and replied:

"I can't."

_That_surprised him, and for a moment, Jefferson found himself at a complete loss for words. He had put all of his hopes onto this last, desperate attempt. He had tried absolutely _everything_else- he had risked his life and had paid a hefty price for a map that ended up being a farce. He had avoided this option for a reason- and a very good one. It was what desperate men did, when they were out of options. And he knew the risks, he was _prepared_for the risks. But not once, at any point, did he ever consider that The Cat _wouldn't _be able to do it.

"Why not?!" Jefferson found himself yelling, only to clamp his mouth shut. One tended to avoid such confrontations with incredibly powerful, magical beings- lest they want to never be found.

"You're _The Cat!_You can do _anything!_" Sense, was also not an attribute Jefferson would place high on his list.

"Yes." The Cat agreed, fortunately seeming more amused than offended- though it was very difficult to tell, being that he was a cat. "However," The Cat continued, leisurely, "there is a cause to every effect and an effect to every cause. The Jabberwock cannot fly if you cut off its' head." It mused.

Jefferson fumed, impatiently.

"I don't _need_a Jabberwock! I _want_my _father_back! So _help me!_" Demanding was also an ill advised option when conversing with incredibly powerful, near-god-like beings. And it was very plausible, that, if he had been confronting any other creature of power, things would have ended differently.

"Oh, I never said I wouldn't help." But if anything could be said for The Cat, it would be that he was incredibly and entirely unpredictable.

"But you just said you couldn't find him-"

"Yes." The Cat agreed again, "**I **can't. **You**, however…"

"I've _looked_!" Jefferson spat back, his shout of frustration echoing through the clearing. The Cat, on the other hand, chuckled.

"Yes, and a Boojum you have found- when what you _need_is a **Snark**."

"Can you help me find my father or not?"

"Yes."

"But you just said-"

"I said **I**could not find him- I never indicated that I could not **help**."

"So you _can?!_" Jefferson exclaimed, eagerly, all anger and impatience vanishing in an instant.

"For a price." The Cat conceded, grin once more broadening.

"Anything- I'll do anything."

The Cat giggled once more.

"Yes, you've mentioned that. You're quite determined aren't you?"

"What do I need to do?" Jefferson interjected, not wishing to waste anymore time. If there was a solution he needed it _now_.

"Can you pull a rabbit out of that hat?" The Cat inquired, curiously.

"What?" Jefferson managed, blankly looking down at the hat still clutched in a tight grip between his fingers.

"Can you pull a _rabbit_out of _that hat_." The Cat repeated, as though Jefferson were merely hearing impaired.

"What- what does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh, I should say it should be _very important_later on. I've found that one is quite simple- _two_is where it gets tricky."

"Will you just-"

"I _am_helping you. Answer the question."

"No! Okay- _No_I can't pull a rabbit out of this stupid hat."

"Would you like to?"

Jefferson suppressed rolling his eyes, screaming and turning right back around. He had been warned about the Cheshire Cat- that It was a creature of pure energy and more powerful than any mere human could possibly conceive.

No one had warned him that It was mad, too.

He didn't know why he was surprised; if The Cat had supposedly _made Wonderland_…

But at the moment, at the very top of Jefferson's list, he would claim to be 'desperate'. So he played along.

"Sure. _Why not_? _**Please**_**, **I beg you, teach me how to pull a rabbit out of this hat."

"Do you not want to hear the price?"

"Sure." Jefferson agreed, unenthusiastically.

"You may use what I give you to aid in your quest- in return for your assistance. You will retrieve anything I require of you while on your travels. My reach is limited and I am in desperate need of a hand." The Cat outstretched its' own hand, which promptly parted from Its' wrist and drifted towards Jefferson, crumbling into purple mist and floating away before it managed to touch him. However, Jefferson paid little mind, his attention more caught on The Cat's words.

"My travels?"

"To other realms of course- you don't expect to find him _here_do you?"

"I…"

"You certainly didn't _come_from _here_."

"Uh- no- but father, he brought me-"

"Yes, and likely has returned to the next."

"But why would he do that?"

"I do not offer insight into the human psyche, I offer a solution. Will you take it?"

"So...you'll give me the power to go to different realms in return that I bring stuff back for you?"

"Precisely." The Cat purred.

"I uh...okay." Jefferson nodded, the entire thing sounding all too good to be true.

"Excellent." The Cat proclaimed, and without any further warning, began to vanish- specifically, the stripes that covered his body began to unravel into one, long strand- a ribbon of deep purple- a ribbon that was making it's way towards Jefferson.

Jefferson watched, mesmerized as the ribbon, almost snake like, slithered forward in mid air, reaching his hat and wrapping around the brim-momentarily nothing more than a mere decoration.

With no further movement from the ribbon, Jefferson looked up at where The Cat had been to ask if 'that was it', however, the minute he took his eyes off it- everything exploded.

Suddenly the surrounding area was once more flooded with the heavy purple fog- except it was different this time. While last time it had been lazily floating around, unobtrusive and easily waded through- this fog- _this magic_was practically electric. It engulfed him, surging towards him and forcing itself down his throat- though his ears, through his nose- burrowing in deeply, his head pounding at the sheer force as this _thing_of immense mass decided to make its' new home _inside_him.

The pounding in his head grew, and he felt every fiber of his being prickling- tiny, microscopic pinches, rolling over his entire body like a wave. He closed his eyes in an attempt to block out the mist, but it seemed branded into his vision- that, or he was simply frozen in place, incapable of moving, incapable of so much as turning his head to see what was happening.

All he was truly aware of was his firm grip on his hat- what once had been impulse had turned into something more as he somehow _felt_his hat _throbbing_with him- burning with pure, raw energy. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think- he couldn't even scream in pain as _something _continued to flood his being, and he felt as though he were going to split in two.

And then it stopped.

Just like that.

More abruptly than it had even began, everything stilled.

The world fell back into place- or _he_fell back into place- he wasn't completely certain.

The sensation could best be described as suddenly stopping after spinning so long that motion is the only thing that really feels natural. It was unsettling.

Not as unsettling as the voice in his ear that continued repeating: _One goes in, One goes out…Two go in, Two go out…_But that eventually stopped too.

When it _did_stop, however, Jefferson was no longer greeted with the absolute silence that he had found himself facing before. That all-around quiet that indicated that not a single soul was in proximity.

Instead, he was greeted by the sounds of nature that had been missing the moment before. As if all of the small woodland creatures somehow subconsciously _knew_that The Cat was no longer in proximity.

The strangest thing though, was that, for some odd reason, Jefferson _knewtoo_.

At the back of his mind- something that hadn't been there before…

Something was different. He couldn't place it yet, but he _knew_, just as he _knew_everything else- that something had changed.

The most obvious thing, apart from the sound, was the fact that the clearing he stood in was no longer a clearing at all- but like the rest of the forest, was covered sparsely with trees. He also noted that they weren't nearly as densely layered as they had been prior- and that the sky above him, now visible, was a pleasant, optimistic periwinkle.

The reality of the situation decided, at that moment, to sink in.

The fear.

The relief.

The gravity of it all pushing him into the dirt a centimeter deeper than was probably necessary.

Jefferson- aged 12 ¾ years- had just survived a meeting with The Cheshire Cat.

_And_came out alive, _and_with a _deal_.

His legs felt like liquid. His thoughts trampled by the steady repeating mantra of: _I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive!_

He let out a shaky laugh of pure, ecstatic elation at simply being alive; relief bubbling in his stomach and sliding up his throat.

And he promptly bent over and let it all out- regurgitating rather unceremoniously on a bush- who, in response, taught him five new curse words and scampered off, away from the inconsiderate, upchucking human.


	2. To Talk of Many Things

'Happily Ever After' was a strange phrase.

He had heard it frequently enough over the years- it was impossible _not_to when reading up on The Enchanted Forests' history. All their legends, all their lore- it seemed that there were really only two options in that land: live happily ever after, or die a horrific, excruciating death.

So it was an interesting occurrence, when The Curse broke, and if Jefferson were merely an observer of these circumstances, and not trapped in the center of them, then perhaps he might have gained more entertainment out of the situation.

It hadallbeen about '_The Curse'-_everyone had been so focused on it and _breaking_it, that no one seemed to really put much consideration into what could possibly come _after_. If you had asked anyone from _The Enchanted Forest_, Jefferson would have bet his hat on what _their _answer would have been.

Instead, there was chaos.

Suddenly everyone was waking up with pretty severe identity crises; in foreign homes, married to foreign people- from the looks of it, more than half of the couples that had once claimed 'happily ever afters' were now in marriage counseling after having spent 28 years shacked up with a complete stranger. Families were demanding joint custody over children they had spent the duration of the curse taking care of, everyone struggling to unify the two dramatically different individuals, unhappily trapped in one body; all the while, dealing with the fact that it seemed that they were still stuck in Storybrooke indefinitely.

And in the midst of this, Storybrooke fell victim to the power struggle between Rumplestiltskin, The Evil Queen and The 'Heroes' (That group of do-gooders, headed by Emma Swan, Snow White and...was it James? David?- Jefferson never _did_figure that one out- who all seemed to _attract_rather than _repel_evil). This resulted in the loss of multiple lives, catastrophic damage to the town; and eventually, as was bound to happen when you restrained so much magic to one, tiny space- the end of their world.

And then, as suddenly as it began, it all _stopped_.

Or, more specifically, the two power players and the do-gooders all boarded a pirate ship together and sailed off.

Just like that, Storybrooke returned to being the peaceful, quaint little town that it was. _Sure_, everyone left over was still struggling with the after effects of the curse. But eventually, after a week went by and there was still no return of the ship, something miraculous happened:

Life went on.

With nothing else to do, people resorted to returning to their everyday, Storybrooke lives. Seeking comfort in the familiarity of those daily routines.

Granny's Bed and Breakfast reopened (the bed portion reaching an all-time high with the dramatic increase of broken homes), the anonymous individuals who suddenly found themselves still magically gifted with this world's medical knowledge went back to the hospital, the fairies, finding themselves with nothing better to do since their magic depended on currently non existent fairy dust, ironically enough, went back to praying. The schools and businesses reopened, and new officials were supposedly recruited (Jefferson was still in a bit of a gray area on that front, having missed the election).

And Jefferson?

He had been lucky, with Grace.

Her foster mother, as it turned out, was the fabled old woman who lived in a shoe- another Wonderlander, as it so happened- who had more than enough mouths to feed and no desire for more. Her foster father, on the other hand, was one of the many new regulars of The Rabbit Hole, and had made no effort to contact her after 'The Breaking'.

So Grace had moved in with him, filling up the enormous space that had been so staggeringly empty for twenty-eight long years without her presence.

He had been terrified, at first. Guilt was never far off as he watched her happily and eagerly explore rooms that Jefferson hadn't touched in over two decades- her elated voice echoing off of the high ceilings and long corridors.

She didn't hate him.

He had been so certain she would.

But she didn't.

The subject had only been broached once- after they had moved her things from her foster family's home to the mansion (with the surprising help of The Dwarves, who, with no diamonds to mine or crops to harvest, had taken on the role of a multipurpose laboring service and were more than happy to take work from the second richest man in town).

He had knelt down to her level, met her eyes and told her absolutely everything; apologizing profusely, expecting anger- rejection…

But instead, he was only met with Grace's smiling face as she moved to hug him once more, small arms wrapping around his neck as she replied "I know, Papa. I forgive you."

They rarely left each other's sight for the first few weeks, both terrified that the moment they looked away the other would disappear. They spent every waking moment with each other, Jefferson merely listening happily as Grace chattered away- blissfully overjoyed to hear his daughters' _voice_after years and years of_silence_- grateful that she was looking at _him_with all the happiness and love he had spent a quarter of a century watching her bestow upon others; and more than anything, grateful that he had been given a second chance.

In fact, small details aside, Jefferson, unlike most Storybrooke residents, found himself in a far better situation than he had left. Sure, he still wished things could return to before both of them were cursed with dual personalities in their heads- but he found himself surprised to admit, that he would have been equally happy- if not far happier- were they to remain here.

When he really thought it over, nothing was waiting for them in The Enchanted Forest- just a small shack in the middle of the woods and a life harvesting mushrooms to barely scrape by.

Meanwhile, _here_, Jefferson could make sure that Grace was want for naught- her every need met- a place where he actually _could_(and did) _buy_her a _pony_.

And more importantly, in Storybrooke, Grace had _friends_, she had a _life_- and that was far more than Jefferson had ever been able to offer her before.

So yes, perhaps he wasn't nearly as desperate as everyone else was to return to Storybrooke- and yes, maybe he _had_been tossing around the idea of torching the 'secret' magic bean farm himself, prior to the mishap- because when it really came down to it, Jefferson could honestly say that he was truly happy for the first time in thirty-seven years, if not longer.

By no means did Jefferson believe it would _last_.

If anything, he of _all_people knew, first hand, how quickly everything you held dear could be ripped away from you at a moments' notice.

No, he was fully aware of the fact that he and Grace were nothing more than the accessories to a much larger game (one which he had absolutely no interest in becoming a part of _ever again_) and that their life in Storybrooke was nothing more than a rather extravagant house of cards: an intricate compilation of moments of success, balanced out to appear as a grand, magnificent structure; when in reality, the slightest breeze could cause it all to topple.

So Jefferson did the only thing he could do and clung to this new life of theirs', digging his fingernails into his and Grace's newly found happiness with weary anticipation of the next time the wind decided to pick up.

It was likely that fact that had brought him back to his telescope.

He hadn't felt the need at first- he had gotten his Grace back, and really, the entire town could burn for all he cared, so long as it remained that way.

The telescope, as a result, went unused and abandoned in it's section of the lounge- only ever once peered through by a curious Grace, when Jefferson had explained how he had spent the duration of The Curse. However, it swiftly became forgotten in the tidal wave of minor apocalypses and likely would have remained that way.

Until the school had decided to reopen.

Abruptly, he found himself alone once again (if only during the days), and after years of watching from afar- of planning his days around her schedule- it was the easiest thing in the world to pick up right where he left off. The only difference now, was that he was down there, waiting for her, when school got out.

Unlike the other residents of Storybrooke, Jefferson didn't have a job to return to- to seek comfort and familiarity in; to give his days a purpose (which, he supposed, was _kind of_the _point_). Prior to The Breaking, he had either been preoccupied with the telescope or feverishly making hats (which he found he had lost a taste for).

Sometimes, he _would_change it up in a vain attempt to stave off madness: he learned to cook (Regina had generously provided him with a grocery delivery service that dropped the food off right at his door)- which, not owning any cookbooks, was mainly eventful days of trial and error and the occasional intentional house fire to see if he could break the barriers on his property by burning it all down (he couldn't- funnily enough, even if he held a flame directly up to those lovely velvet curtains in the dining room, nothing ever lit).

He learned piano- which was, again, trial and error, but when you have twenty-eight years to kill in a massive, silent mansion, you tended to embrace sound- no matter how abhorrent that sound might be.

He had long ago (ironically enough) mastered the card house, then church, then castle- and with the magical knowledge of most basic card games (thanks to his alternate billionaire persona, who, as it turned out, had a penchant for gambling) and far too much time on his hands, he created over a dozen of his own (some of his favorites, he had begun teaching to Grace).

Needless to say, he had perfected the art of hat-making, long before coming to Storybrooke; but with the fabric that was also shipped to him weekly (compliments again, of Regina, who had the room waiting for him when he woke up there) he had managed to expand his knowledge to the rest of his wardrobe, which was useful, as the clothes he had been provided with (polo shirts and khaki shorts) were not only inappropriate for Maine, but particularly revolting to look at.

He burned most of the books that had been provided for him.

Regina clearly had had far too much time on her hands when making her own custom modifications to The Curse and he had to give her credit- it really _was_the tiny little details that made the impact- such as the books in his library. More than half of them were self-help books with titles such as "How to accept the loss of your child" or "It's okay Daddy, I'm in Heaven Now" or, his personal favorite: "A Widowers Guide to Being a Parent".

However, among the numerous books on loss of spouse and or child, battling suicide, and countless psychology books on a number of various mental disorders- which successfully had him convinced for a full month that he _was_completely mad (which, if he recalled correctly, had been the happiest month of the entirety of the curse) until Regina decided to abruptly end his euphoria by sending him the stuffed rabbit he had hand-stitched for his Grace; spurring him once more into a down-spiral of sobering depression- there were a few on miscellaneous, mundane subjects that he found himself leafing through a couple dozen times out of sheer boredom (he now knew more than he'd ever wished to know about this world's three-toed sloth, and the explicit detail of how to grow an avocado tree- he now had three in the backyard).

Eventually, however, he would always, without fail, return to the telescope.

It had become his only friend and constant- his own personal portal to Grace's world.

And as time went on, it became his primary source of entertainment.

While pursuing dozens of hobbies succeeded in keeping his mind off of everything for a short while- nothing was _nearly_as absorbing as watching the daily lives of each and every Storybrooke citizen.

It sounded monotonous in theory- but much like watching ants on an anthill or fish in a tank (he didn't have one- Regina seemed to have limited his contact with living creatures exclusively to the plants out in the garden) once you started, it was absolutely mesmerizing.

It had started out simply as innocent curiosity.

Regina had chosen to visit the school- an odd thing for the supposed 'Mayor' to do- and he found his telescope, for the first time ever, straying away from the school playground (Grace had just left with The Impostors to her present surrogate home) to follow The Queen and a small, petite woman, who Jefferson had come to deduce must be the fabled Snow White. He watched, curiously, as Regina lead her, of all places, to The Hospital (which, if he adjusted the telescope and moved to the appropriate window, was in view, if only the waiting room). He hadn't managed to see _what_it was Regina had guided her ill fated rival to do or see- but it had resulted in Jefferson's telescope being pointed at the hospital _just long enough,_to see the second to last person he had _ever_expected to see again, walk into frame.

Regina must have had her suspicions that their attempted revival had been a hoax if she had felt the need to import _Him_there. Or, at least, he couldn't think of any _other_reason for it.

Either way, the shock of his presence in Storybrooke was enough for Jefferson (for the first time ever) to continue to stray his telescope further and further away from Grace and fixate, instead, on his oldest and only friend.

As much as he despised Regina (and he did so with every fiber of his being) he couldn't help but find it amusing to see the serious, stern, foul-mooded Victor Frankenstein, turned perverted womanizer.

From there, everything fell neatly into place.

The telescope followed Victor for awhile, on his nightly conquests- until Jefferson grew bored, and instead, decided to follow said conquest _post-coital_. He watched her slink out of Victor's apartment an hour or so later; straightening her blouse and fixing her hair- taking a cab to a more suburban neighborhood, where she entered (luckily for him) a house whose interior was in perfect view through Jefferson's telescope. So he witnessed, in all its' glory- as the woman made her way inside the house- to walk in on a man, who Jefferson could only assume must be her husband- currently preoccupied with a young redhead.

Jefferson watched the fight that followed with unsuppressed glee at the irony of it all- eyes completely glued to the telescope, head filling in the dialogue he unfortunately couldn't hear.

The next thing he knew, the sun had gone down, and Jefferson had succeeded in spending a good few hours doing nothing but _watching_.

While his primary interest was, as always, focused on Grace- for the hours that she was out of his site, his telescope began to stray, more and more, to the other residents of Storybrooke.

Each and every one of them had their own, individual cursed lives- and, as was the idea when thrust into said curse, each one had their own array of drama that came with that life.

It quickly turned into a favored past-time, and from there, a hobby.

He started experimenting with different locations in his mansion- finding the best vantage points for each major building in the town and his more favored neighborhoods (Victor's apartment window was visible from the second guest bedroom on the third floor of the East Wing, while The Evil Queen's office was best seen from the billard room on the first floor of the West Wing).

He began memorizing schedules of some of his favorite characters (for that's what they _were_in _this_land) and organized it so that he was always watching _something_.

Storybrooke had become his fish tank, and its' residents, his fish.

And he named each and every one of them.

So really, it was surprising that he had lasted as long as he _did_, without tending to his fish.

Which was precisely what he was doing at that moment; lense currently focused on an amusing confrontation the Head Dwarf was having with the Head Fairy (there were still a few gaps in his knowledge when it came to names). The dwarf in question had apparently visited daily since The Breaking but was, for some reason, every time stopped by the fairy who had taken on the role of Mother Superior. What was different about today was the fact that instead of approaching the front steps again, this time The Dwarf seemed to have thought he'd have better luck breaking in the back way- with a pickaxe.

His observations were interrupted by the toll of the clocktower, audible even from his location, informing all of Storybrooke that it was now noon. Without even the slightest hesitance, Jefferson automatically redirected his telescope, landing with well-practiced ease the Schoolyard just in time to witness Grace and her classmates exiting the building for lunch. The scope panned almost on its' own accord, following her as she made her way to her prefered bench, removing her backpack and setting it on her lap as she sat down, a very familiar stuffed rabbit staring back at him as she unzipped the pack, rifling around the bunny instead of simply removing it, until she succeeded in pulling out her lunchbox.

Suddenly, as though feeling his eyes on her, Grace looked up- almost directly into the telescope lens- and smiled, setting down her lunchbox on the bench and waving enthusiastically in his direction.

Jefferson couldn't help but chuckle, grinning himself and raising his own hand, giving a small wave in response- failing to register that her actually witnessing the action was doubtful- as the only reason she knew where to look at all was because he had pointed it out to her a week prior.

The small, pleasant moment was unfortunately cut short as an event took place that Jefferson, in all twenty-eight years of residence in Storybrooke, could say with absolute confidence and certainty, had never once occurred before:

The doorbell rang.

Up until that moment, Jefferson hadn't even been aware that he _owned_a doorbell.

After all, up until around a year ago, it had been completely impossible for him to so much as _leave his house_and in all honesty, he wouldn't even know what one _was_if it weren't for the secondary consciousness taking up space in his head.

So at first, the sound succeeded in nothing but confusing him.

He waited, still hunched over his telescope, eyes unseeing, ears pricked, wondering the noise would make a reappearance.

After a few moments of absolute silence, Jefferson grew impatient.

Mentally, he quickly ran through the list of people who even knew he _lived_all the way up here and came up with all of five names.

Each and every one of them conveniently having sailed away weeks prior.

He concluded that, In all likelihood, it was a random group of teenagers, daring one another to approach the now miraculously accessible, ominous mansion atop the hill- likely with a flurry of rumors about an old, evil witch living at the top. One of them could have easily approached and rung the doorbell- scampering off in a fit of giggles.

He turned back to his telescope, focusing back in on the schoolyard, only to find that his internal debate had lasted much longer than he had expected, and that the children were now being ushered back inside; Grace already out of sight.

He sighed in frustration, moving away from the telescope and surveying the town below him from his window. It was a rather lengthy trek for even the bravest teenager- especially up that hill, which he had only ever descended once out of desperation (and never up).

Anyone who went through the trouble to seek him out was either paid to do so, such as his grocery delivery service, or had gone through great trouble to get up here.

Or perhaps he was simply justifying his actions for possibly going to investigate.

It could, afterall, just as easily be a trap- someone instructed by The Queen to keep him in his place after he had performed the foolish act of releasing her favorite prisoner- and as a result, very clearly stating his 'side' in the little war she had brewing. It would be easy enough, to ignore it…

Jefferson had taken to pacing back and forth in the rather expansive observation room, mind racing as he weighed the pros and cons, before stopping in his tracks, mind made up.

Perhaps it was the Wonderlander blood that coursed through his veins (even if it _was_only metaphorically), but he had never been quite capable of _leaving well alone_. And the very fact that something _different_had happened made it absolutely impossible for him to focus on anything else.

So he did what any sane man who had experienced all that he had in life and still found himself standing _wouldn't_do, and walked over to his front door.

He stopped then, staring at the innocuous structure with an expression frequently worn by those preparing to traipse the Tugley Wood, ride a rowboat out into Sea of Tears or sneak into the cavern of a sleeping Jabberwock.

Fortunately for Jefferson, he had done all three.

His hand reached out and clasped the ornate silver doorknob, the cool metal practically stinging his palm as he twisted it; heart accelerating, prepared for the untold horrors that were lurking just on the other side of his rather large, ostentatious door…

And after such a build up, he found the reveal slightly anticlimactic.

A box.

A plain, boring, cardboard box. It was roughly the size of one of his hat boxes, but flatter, and beaten up to all hell- as though someone had literally taken the first box they had seen out of the recycling bin out behind Granny's, brushed it off a little, straightened it out with a few strategically placed strips of duct tape and sheer force of will, and as an afterthought, haphazardly stuck a cheap, bright red stick-on plastic ribbon on top to complete the package.

For a beat, Jefferson simply _stared_at it, wondering if this was it- if he had finally, _truly_gone mad.

But if this was madness, then it was a very specific kind of madness that decided to manifest itself as an incredibly unappealing and slightly pathetic box.

From where Jefferson stood, the box had no incoming or outgoing address, no stamps or markings of any kind. There was no card, not even a name, and if Jefferson wasn't the _only_house perched up on his own personal hill, then he would have had reason to wonder if it was for him at all.

So he drew the only conclusion he possibly_could_draw from such an occurrence:

And closed the door.

Jefferson reopened the door moments later, stepping out of his home and approaching the box with a large amount of caution and trepidation; gun pointed threateningly at it, as though daring it to do something suspicious.

The box, in turn, seemed to be perfectly content with its' current resting place, as it didn't convey any desire to move from its' location, or indicate in any sort of helpful way, that it was, in fact, dangerous. Jefferson straightened up after a moment, satisfied with his hands-off assessment and proceeded to walk around the box, assuring himself a good few, generous footsteps' worth of space between He and It before he raised his gun and shot it.

Twice.

The first time he missed and forged a new peephole in his door.

The second time he hit the upper right corner- but close enough that, if anything deadly were to reside in there, it would have been activated or killed, depending on what it was.

Assured by this continued lack of response, Jefferson lowered the gun and approached the box once more, kneeling and scooping it up. It felt just about as pleasant as it looked- a combination of dry and flakey cardboard and smooth, seamless tape- and smelt uncannily like fish.

He closed the door with his foot as he re-entered his home; making his way to the dining room where he temporarily abandoned this new, mysterious visitor, on his table, while continuing onward to a room he had avoided since The Breaking.

He returned moments later with a good sturdy pair of scissors.

They made quick work of the tape, slicing through them as effortlessly as if tearing through tissue paper. He didn't bother to remove all of it, but just enough to make the top flaps accessible.

He was unfortunately forced to abandon his gun in order to grab at the flaps, pinching the edges of each one with both sets of thumb and fingers, hoping that if there was something in there that _had_the potential to spring out at him, he had killed it already.

Jefferson took a final, shaking breath, heart accelerating from anticipation…

And opened the box.

Any breath Jefferson had left in him, vanished in that moment.

He staggered backward, hands flying away from the flaps as though scalded, causing the box in question to teeter from its' precarious perch on the table and fall off it, spilling its' contents onto the dark maroon carpet and forcing Jefferson to trip over his own feet, stumbling and falling back himself, only a few feet away, eyes permanently glued to the last thing he had expected to see, ever again:

They were tattered and worn from age, the shine not nearly as prominent as they had been when he had first clasped eyes on them- but there was absolutely no mistaking them, even thirty-seven years later.

And Jefferson could feel it, that slight breeze, gently brushing up against his carefully constructed house of cards, effortlessly compelling them to topple.

All because of a pair of ruby slippers.


End file.
